The Art Of Loss & Truth
by Jemmz
Summary: One-shot. Peter knows something’s very wrong with Nathan, and when he finally gathers the courage to go and visit him, his worst fears are confirmed.


**The Art Of Loss & Truth**

**Summary**: Peter knows something's very wrong with Nathan, and when he finally gathers the courage to go and visit him, his worst fears are confirmed.

**Characters: **Peter, Sylar!Nathan

**Spoilers:** Last episode of Season 3.

**Rating:** T/PG13 for language

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned them, but sadly, I don't.

It's around mid-day when Peter arrives at Nathan's office to visit him. He hasn't been able to see him in a while. At least, that was his excuse whenever Nathan phoned or took time in his busy schedule to visit him. He complains to Peter monthly-_ "It's been too long. We should get together and catch up sometime." _Leaves endless messages on his answering machine- _"I always seem to catch you at a bad time. Call me back." _

Peter told himself he should get back to the life he had before he became a fugitive. Now it was over, he could return back to normal. Everything _is_ back to normal. Except for one thing.

He walks up to the desk and sees him with his head down at the table. _Probably paperwork, _he tells himself, tries hard not to turn around and walk back out the door. But he's surprised when he sees his brother fiddling with a watch laid out on the desk, parts scattered everywhere.

"What are you doing?" he asks, finally finding his voice as he swallows his hesitance and steps forward.

Nathan glances up, his eyes seem different somehow. He smiles, "Pete. Good to see you. I started to get the feeling you were avoiding me."

Peter shakes his head a little too vigorously, "Nope. Just been busy," he answers simply, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable.

Nathan stands up, leaving the watch on the table, "So, how've you been? Feels like I haven't spoken to you in weeks."

"Six weeks," Peter answers, as if he's been keeping count. He realises and shrugs, "Roughly." He forces a smile but it feels all too false, "Sorry."

"Well, you're here now," grins Nathan, making his way over and patting his younger brother on the shoulder, "Do you want to get lunch?"

There's something about his touch that feels wrong. Peter pulls away and frowns. He watches the expression of the man in front of him fall.

"What's up?"

Peter tries his best to ignore the torn feeling he has in his heart, that something was wrong. Very wrong. He looks up stiffly and shrugs once again, "Nothing."

Nathan changes his position slightly and tries his best to read Peter, "You _have_ been avoiding me. I thought we were past this. I made a mistake, alright? I was wrong."

"It's not that," Peter replies quickly. Though he soon wishes he hadn't. His eyes meets Nathan's again and he can't help but look away. He feels like those eyes belong to a stranger. No, someone else. They're familiar but Peter knows they aren't the eyes he's used to seeing, "Something isn't right."

The older man crosses his arms over his chest, "What do you mean?"

Peter scratches idly at his stubble and wanders over to the desk where he expects infinite numbers of documents and paperwork to be stacked. But instead he finds the watch and picks it up, waves it in the air at Nathan. He seems angry, confused, "Don't you have more important things to be doing?"

"It was broken," Nathan admits with a careless shrug before placing his hands in his pockets, "I was trying to fix it."

"I didn't know you knew how to fix watches."

Nathan stops and scratches his chin as his expression turns cold and perplexed, "Neither did I. Must've picked it up somewhere."

Peter nods unsurely. The feeling hits him like a massive wave, almost knocking him over as if with shock. He clutches at the desk with both hands, fingernails digging in to the expensive Carpathian elm wood.

"Pete, are you okay?"

He isn't sure how to explain it. But he feels like he should be running towards the other direction and that coming here was one huge mistake. But, as he battles with the one thing that has been clouding his mind for a good six weeks now, seeing the man in person makes him almost certain. Nathan isn't Nathan anymore. When Peter tries to voice this aloud, it emerges as a whisper. Barely audible. Because he feels the whole thing is wrong and implausible. But he knows something is up and he knows something's changed. He clears his throat and tries again, "You're different. You've changed," he manages to say hoarsely but Nathan takes this well. He nods,

"I know," he replies, "hopefully for the better."

"No," whispers Peter again, his hair crawling it's way across his face and shadowing over his eyes as he looks at Nathan seriously, "I mean, you're…_different_."

The words only confuse him. But on some level, Peter thinks Nathan understands. His features harden and he turns to face the many photographs on the wall beside him. The picture of him and Peter is cracked slightly and he frowns deeply, "I don't think I know what you're getting at," he answers solemnly.

Peter stays firmly where he is and after a long pause asks one of the questions he's been longing to ask for ages now, "What happened? When Sylar attacked us and you went out the window?"

Nathan stops and thinks hard. His expression portrays deep thought, his mouth opens to give an answer that doesn't seem to come. And Peter can tell that he doesn't remember. What does surprise him though, as Nathan stalks towards him, is that strange, recognisable smirk across his face. It gives him shivers and he can barely speak as Nathan towers over him, his tall build almost leaving him in the shadows. He feels so cold. So Sick.

"I killed the son-of-a-bitch. That's what happened," he says chillingly, and Peter has a horrible feeling he isn't talking about Sylar anymore. He feels his back hit the wall and after a few short breaths, his features change to a threatening glare.

"Where's my brother?" he orders, as he's suddenly certain the man in front of him is anybody but his older brother.

The man above him seems momentarily confused. His eyes meet Peter's and the smile is back. But it's not reassuring. It's not friendly. It's not loving. It's dangerous, and threatening. And if possible, Peter feels less safe then he did moments before. He places a hand on Peter's arm and he can't help but tremble. This wasn't familiar. His touch was unwelcoming and distant. It was cold and painful as his hand slipped down to grab his wrist and squeeze it, "You tell me," he snaps and he places Peter's hand on his shoulder.

Before he is able to pull away, Peter can see himself as a child, his sight temporarily obscured by visions of the past. Nathan is there and his younger version smiles at him. Another one, faster this time. It's Nathan as an adult, holding his son for the first time. But something isn't right. There's someone else there. Someone who shouldn't be. He's standing behind Nathan, a grim smirk across his face. Peter shudders.

Another one. Nathan is standing on a stage, making a speech. His face is blurry, but it's definitely him. The crowd applaude him. Peter thinks he see's Nathan smile. And his heart tears as he see's someone else smiling back at him. Not Nathan, but another man. Or rather, an old enemy.

They're like memories as Peter watches a small child with thick glasses play in an old colourful toy car. He grins but Peter watches intently. He watches a man hand over the child and thoughtlessly kill a beautiful woman, her head dripping crimson blood, mouth open and eyes wide. The child merely stands there and cries. _Mommy?_

Just as Peter thinks he can't take anymore, a new one appears. A familiar face with a woman dancing in snow. A moment later and she's dead on the floor with a pair of bloodied scissors embedded in her chest. Peter cries out. _Stop. Stop this. _But the memories persist. One after one. Death after death. And Peter recognises the familiar red blood marks on each of the victim's faces. He can feel his fingernails dig in to the shoulder's of the man in front of him but he can't see him. _This isn't true. It can't be._

Now he see's him. Nathan. Or is it really him? He watches as his older brother falls in to a chair, blood pouring from his neck as he struggles to breathe. He watches the familiar glint disappear from the man's eyes. He watches his older brother die.

A loud, lasting yell and he's back where he started, blood dotting his bruised finger tips. He struggles to catch his breath as he pulls away and feels his head bump in to the wall behind him once again. Had that really happened? Now he knows what the man in front of him seems and feels like. His stomach tightens in a knot and his airways suddenly feel very thick. He shakes his head. _No._

The thought makes him sick. All this time, the man he thought was his brother, his brother who loved him and who he loved back, who cared for him and made him feel safe, who would always take him in and hold him tightly to reassure and comfort him, was the man who had tortured him, killed him, threatened him and murdered so many innocent people. Those same hands that had rested on his shoulders and wrapped around him lovingly were the same hands that had tried to squeeze the life out of him and leave him for dead. The same hands that had killed Nathan, the _real_ Nathan. And just like that, he has no strength left to fight it, to fight _him._

_He stares, horrified at Sylar as he watches Peter stumble back through Nathan's dark eyes. But now the smirk is gone and 'Nathan' seems astonished at his younger brother's reaction. He places that hand on his shoulder, the same hand he uses to steal the life and power from other people, the same hand he used to kill Nathan, and he looks at him with a genuine concern,_

"_Peter, are you alright?" _

_Like he's been heartlessly ripped in to shreds and lost every remaining part of himself, Peter doubts he will ever be alright, or whole, again._


End file.
